


Jigolo Har Megiddo

by habenaria_radiata



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, First Kiss, Humor, M/M, Masquerade, Memory Loss, Post-Triangulum Arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 08:25:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13609431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/habenaria_radiata/pseuds/habenaria_radiata
Summary: Hibiki Kuze has had plenty of experience with the extraordinary. He'd survived a seven day demon apocalypse -- twice! -- and even the full brunt of JP's punishing and thoroughly unorthodox recruitment methods.But what good is experience if you don't remember any of it?Fortunately, he isn't alone in his predicament. A gorgeous man in a dragon mask may not be a replacement for memories, but it sure does make the lack of them easier to deal with.





	Jigolo Har Megiddo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Katraa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katraa/gifts).



> I hope you have a wonderful Valentine's Day, Katraa!

* * *

 

  
    Upon waking, his first instinct is to note that the back of his head is cradled by a pair of thighs -- at least, that would be his first instinct if it weren't for the alarmingly red and white harlequin-patterned mask hovering directly over his face. His heart leaps inside him, and his body jerks upwards until the woman plants a pale hand to his sternum and eases him back down. "Are you alright?" she asks.  
  
    He blinks up at her and opens his mouth, then closes it again and swallows. "Where am I?" It seems like the most pressing question right then. He can't seem to bring the answer to mind when it really seems like he should. He can't remember where he is at all, much less why he's lying on some lady's lap. Slowly, his head filled with fog, he tilts it backwards and blinks again. There's something heavy and cool on his face. What is that? Is he wearing a mask like hers?  
  
    The woman above him tilts her head, a cascade of perfectly curled blonde hair bouncing against her shoulder. "Oh dear."  
  
    He shakes his head like he thinks he can dislodge the gross, cobwebby feeling inside his skull, and he reaches up to feel the mask skewed across half his face. "Er, never mind. What happened? Did I pass out?"  
  
    "Ah." Her neck straightens, and she pulls backwards the slightest bit, opening up a red paper fan and waving it against his face. It's not the most powerful breeze in the world, obviously, but it does make him feel a little better. "You came in through the front doors and then tripped and fell on your face," she says helpfully, her voice so earnest it somehow makes him feel more embarrassed than if she'd just told him he fell over like a hilarious moron and then laughed at him.  
  
    "Oh. Great."  
  
    "Are you alright?" she asks again, her red lips pursing into a frown. "That was quite a fall. Nothing seems to be broken, but..."  
  
    "I'm fine!" He flattens his hands beneath him, his fingertips sliding into the dip of what he can only assume is a button. They must be on a sofa of some sort. He pushes himself up to sit, the woman's hands coming up to support him. Probably she thinks he's going to fall again. He re-adjusts his mask until it's straight again and blinks up at her. "Just sort of dizzy, still."  
  
    "Hm. I see." She leaves her hand where it is between his shoulder blades, holding him steady while he tries to get his bearings. He has no idea who she is, and given her mask, it's unlikely that he's going to figure it out any time soon. What on earth are they doing? He doesn't remember being invited to a masquerade. Like, ever. He hesitates a moment, then looks back at her. "What's your name?"  
  
    Wait a minute. Why is he asking _her_ name? ...What's his name?  
  
    The corners of the woman's mouth edge down yet further as she shifts on the bench. "If I were to tell you, it would be against the rules," she says, her voice carefully measured. He frowns even harder than her and rears back.  
  
    "Rules...?"  
  
    "They were on your invitation. Do you not have one?" She sounds so surprised that shame overtakes him, leaving him feeling like he'd just scandalized this poor woman with his atrocious lack of etiquette.  
  
    "I- I'm not sure," he admits. He climbs to his feet, his shiny blue shoes squeaking against the pretty marble tiles beneath them, and he stuffs both his hands into his pockets. To his relief, there's a folded piece of paper he draws out and opens up. It's thick like card stock, but the texture of it isn't unlike parchment. Way fancy. The writing is all script, too, extending an invitation for one _Hibiki Kuze_ to this terribly posh soirée. Which is definitely a masquerade, and it definitely announces in fine print that stating your name and taking off your mask are wildly against the rules. Well then! Hibiki exhales a tiny, disapproving burst of breath and slides the invitation back into his pocket. "Right. I'm sorry, miss. I wasn't trying to be rude."  
  
    "It's quite alright." She smooths her hands down the length of her pristinely white dress and comes to a more elegant stand beside him. "I'm glad you're feeling better, little rabbit." She smiles, then, and in the light like this, he can see that her eyes are an ethereally pale brown color, framed by the sharp, foxy cut-outs of her mask. They dart upwards towards something over his head. Rabbit...?  
  
    Hibiki reaches up, his fingers groping through the air until they come to rest against what can only be a ceramic rabbit ear poking up from his mask. Weird! "Oh. Aha! Y- Yeah." He drops his hand again as she laughs and closes her little fan back. "I apologize for keeping you away from the, er..." He swivels his head back and forth. They're in a small alcove with more plush chaises akin to what he'd been lying on, but there is no one else save them. He can hear them, however, a hum of voices buzzing just outside the alcove. "...Party?"  
  
    The woman shakes her head at him in amusement and lifts her shoulders. "That's alright. No need to apologize. If you think you'll be okay to stand, I'll be on my way, but I hope that you'll come fetch me if you feel faint again. I'm a doctor, I..." She pauses, and Hibiki turns to see her teeth sinking briefly into her bottom lip. "Think?" A little flustered, she excuses herself, ducking out of the alcove and leaving him to wander after her at a slower pace. This is weird. This entire thing is weird.  
  
    He doesn't remember anything. Not this rabbit mask, or those super bright blue shoes on his feet, or the white blazer he's got furling around his hips. He doesn't remember that creepy invitation for sure. What was he doing before he came here?  
  
    Hibiki can't recall at all. Surely he's here for a reason, though?  
  
    Unsettled though he is, there is very little to be done about it. He slips into the crowd of people, making his way through this bizarre place in an attempt to figure out first and foremost where he is. He doesn't recognize the interior from anything. Everything is bright and gleaming, mostly whites and pale greys with occasional flashes of milky blue or lavender. The floor is all marble, with gaudy looking columns and white rococo tables with food and drinks piled on top of each shiny surface. He's not sure how he feels about eating anything here, though -- everything feels...surreal. Almost dream-like. He's half convinced that if he were to help himself to the hors d'oeuvres, he might shrink to the size of an actual rabbit, or worse.  
  
    Skirting around the refreshments, Hibiki wades through the sea of bodies once more to try and keep to the walls. If nothing else, maybe he could find a door and get the hell out of this weird place.  
  
    Hibiki Kuze. His name is Hibiki Kuze. And what else? As he moves, keeping one hand to the wall at all times, he tries to recall all that he knows about himself. He's a Gemini. He's...pretty sure. He is from Tokyo. Is this place in Tokyo? No, concentrate. It doesn't matter. Hibiki shakes his head again and turns a corner, lifting his head as he finds himself in what looks to be a foyer. Maybe this is the exit. Maybe he could remember something concrete if he could just go the hell outside and get some fresh air that doesn't smell like expensive, old lady perfume and sweat.  
  
    But he's soon disappointed, as he reaches the back edge of the foyer to find nothing but more tall white walls. What the fuck. There's no door. But there's even a set of different tiles right against the wall as if to indicate that there should be. What?  
  
    Freaked out, Hibiki darts to the other side and keeps pressing on, his heart beating faster and his skin beginning to itch beneath his stiff oxford. He's definitely a Gemini, and he lives with his mom. Or he did. He doesn't live with her anymore. He's sure about that. Good. This is good.  
  
    He traces the length of another wall, his fingertips skimming along the cool surface, and he turns his head to watch the crowd before him. It doesn't help as much as he'd hoped it would; not one person is without a mask. It makes it impossible to tell what kind of people have been gathered here, but he can at least assume they must all be nauseatingly wealthy given the clothes and the staggering amount of jewelry that glitters beneath the opulent lights.  
  
    Hibiki spots the kind maybe-doctor a few times. She's easy to pick out of the rest of the crowd, her dress white, but a brilliantly red sash drawing attention even from across the room. It matches her mask and the geometric red diamonds dangling from her ears. He can only assume she's either supposed to be the Queen of Diamonds, or she just really, really likes harlequin patterns.  
  
    Apparently, he's not the only one with a questionable theme. He spies an assortment of cat masks, a 'wolf' in a dark grey ensemble dancing with someone bedecked in reds and a heavy hood, someone in a plague doctor mask, which just strikes him as sort of tasteless, and even a fox wearing a luxurious plume of nine tails. He wishes he were in a position to actually enjoy himself, but as it were, the pageantry only serves to freak him out more. What is everyone doing here? This is _not_ his scene. ...Is it?  
  
    How would he know? Maybe it is. It's not as though he can speak with any authority as to the kind of person he is. Why else would he come here if not intentionally? Why would anyone want to kidnap him and rob him of his memories just to dump him in a fancy party full of mostly harmless animal fans?  
  
    Ridiculous. It's all ridiculous. No one would want to kidnap him. He's not rich like these people, he's just an ordinary, average guy with a part time job and-  
  
    A searing bolt of pain burns a path from the back of his skull to the space between his eyes. Hibiki staggers, his hand sliding off the wall as he gasps and clutches his hair. Shit, the maybe-doctor was probably right. He needs to lie back down. He must have hit his head way harder than he'd realized.  
  
    As a thick, heavy hand comes around his elbow, Hibiki lets go of his head and lifts it to see a tall man leaning over him with a terrifying imp mask, a set of ram horns spiraling out from the sides and pointing threateningly at his face. His heart seizes up for the second time that day, and suddenly he misses the maybe-doctor and her way less unsettling mask. "You okay, kid?" the man asks.  
  
    On instinct, he rips his arm free and grasps at his elbow, then panics. "I'm okay," he blurts. Oh god, he was just rude to a demon. "S- Sorry," Hibiki practically yells, slamming up onto his toes as his spine goes straight and rigid. "I tripped and fell on my face!" Yes. That would explain everything. Smooth going! "Uhm...please excuse me!"  
  
    Hibiki ducks away from the man, wedging himself between two bodies and disappearing into the crowd as fast as possible. That was stupid. And embarrassing. It's little wonder he'd tripped when he's so talented at shoving his foot into his mouth.  
  
    Demons. There are demons here. Of course there are demons, here, it's a masquerade party, if it were only animals then how boring would that be, and besides, some people are into that kind of thing and-  
  
    Hibiki stops short, nearly faceplanting into a nearby refreshments table. No. Wait. _There are demons here_. Literally. Realization strikes like a hammer blow. He grabs the edge of the table and shoves himself straight up, his pulse quickening. That's it! That's why he's here. He squeezes his way past more party goers and ducks down against a pillar, shoving his hands into his front pockets and producing his cell phone. It's as bright blue as his shoes, and when he opens it up, the upper screen flips horizontally. How odd!  
  
    No, that shouldn't surprise him. He remembers his phone now. He remembers the demon. Hibiki navigates through his icons, opening up the summoning app and checking on his own demons. All present and accounted for. That's right -- here's here to exorcise a particular demon. Something about snakes?  
  
    But...that's all he remembers. Less helpful than one might think it would be. Was he here with a group? Completely alone? Is he some lame, Lone Wolf McGee demon hunter who doesn't need friends Getting In His Way? Maybe! He hopes not, especially since that little epiphany hasn't helped him to figure out which demon he had even come here for. He isn't even sure how to go about identifying one.  
  
    Well. Great. Still, it is a step in the right direction. He has a new goal now: find the demon. And maybe a door while he's at it. Hibiki snaps his phone shut and lifts his head again, his body falling still as he takes in a pair of boots positioned right in front of him, the toes pointing straight at him. They're both blinding white and scaly, like they'd been made out of hide cut from the flanks of an albino dragon. Hibiki finds himself examining them just a touch longer than would probably be appropriate, so he lifts his head up to the gray slacks above them, then higher still, up long legs and a long torso and a smooth white serpent mask and the prettiest hair he's ever seen. When Hibiki meets his frosty eyes, the man doesn't even do him the courtesy of at least pretending like he hadn't been staring at him the entire time Hibiki was crouched on the ground, hunched over his phone like Gollum.  
  
    "Uhm. My shoe was untied," he explains.  
  
    "No, it wasn't."  
  
    Wow. Well, maybe it wasn't the most skillful lie he'd ever attempted, but Hibiki can't help but feel like this guy immediately calling him out for it was somehow ruder than his trying to lie at all. He opens his mouth to respond, then closes it again and pouts. What does he even say to that?! 'Yeah, you got me'? 'Yes, it was'? 'Shut up and mind your own beeswax'?  
  
    But Hibiki does not say any of that and instead blows a soft, put out breath. "I was looking for the way out!" He hopes his chastizing tone means he can leave the 'duh' hanging at the end unsaid. Clearly, that response does little in the way of impressing him. Hibiki receives an utterly disdainful snort in reply, and the man folds his arms.  
  
    "On the floor?"  
  
    Very good, Hibiki. That sure showed him. He hesitates again and drops his gaze. "...You never know."  
  
    He braces himself for another haughty little sniff, but to his surprise, the man's mouth draws into an amused curl. To Hibiki's bigger surprise, he actually drops down beside him, easing down to his knees and inspecting the tiles beneath their feet. "If there are any trap doors hidden in this floor, then I commend their craftsmanship."  
  
    Smartass. Hibiki laughs back at him and rubs at his arm. "Worth a shot, I guess."  
  
    "Have you really been looking for doors?" Hibiki blinks at him and nods. He watches the dragon tilt his head towards the crowd, his gorgeous hair brushing against his shoulders. It's such a weird color. He can't decide if it's grey or purple or both or neither. It almost matches the interior of the rest of the manor. Or whatever this place is. Finally, the man turns again, his pale eyes piercing Hibiki's own and holding them fast. They're the same unidentifiable color as his hair. "That's clever of you, but don't waste your time. I've already looked. There are none."  
  
    "Wh- None?" Both his shoulders drop hard. He isn't even necessarily shocked, but having it confirmed is disappointing. The man eyes him in such a way that Hibiki can fucking _sense_ the cock of his eyebrow behind his mask. He imagines they must be very sharp, his eyebrows. He isn't sure why, but it seems fitting.  
  
    "Are you just going to take my word for it? ...Less clever."  
  
    Hibiki just barely resists the urge to blow a raspberry at him and grits his teeth. "Hey, you're really rude, you know?"  
  
    As if to prove how not offended he is, the man laughs and drops one knee, pushing himself up to a stand. "So I've heard." In a thoughtful gesture Hibiki had already come not to expect from him, he thrusts an arm out, extending his hand towards Hibiki. Like an idiot, Hibiki just stares at it. He's got leathery white gloves on, as smooth and perfect as if they were tailor made for those hands. He takes it slowly, pulling himself back up.  
  
    "Uhm, thanks."  
  
    Hibiki gets to his feet and lets go of him, brushing off the front of his white jacket. He's a little sad to let him go, truth be told. The dragon man is so warm he can feel his heat even through the gloves. He guesses that makes sense, given he's a dragon and all that.  
  
    Surreptitiously, he peeks up at him through his blindingly white mask and drops his hands. "Why is it clever for me to be looking for doors?"  
  
    "You haven't noticed?" His gaze is so heavy as to be almost palpable. Hibiki finds himself blushing beneath it; it's a struggle to meet his gaze without wanting to be the first to look away. He is stubborn to a fault, though, and he stares back at him like a defiant weirdo.  
  
    "What do you mean? Noticed what?"  
  
    The dragon motions towards the crowd and swings towards them, his arms crossing again and his lips pulling into an irritated slash. "No one else seems to think there's a problem. If they have, they've been quite good at hiding it. But you're the first person I've seen crawling around on the floor in an attempt to escape."  
  
    "Okay, you don't have to say it like that." Hibiki huffs at him loudly and reaches up to plant both his chilled hands against his cheeks and rub the fire out of them. This guy unsettles him a lot. "Well, fine then. Why is it we're the only ones who have a problem with this?"  
  
    Hibiki's eyes follow the curves of his mouth as the man smiles at him. He seems amused by Hibiki's questions. "I suspect it has something to do with those demons on your phone." Ah. So this guy knows about them too. It makes him feel better, like he's not just a crazy person who believes in monsters and demons who host masked sex parties. Unless he's hallucinating this guy too. That's not a pleasant thought. He doesn't want to think that the only other sane person in this building isn't even real.  
  
    "What makes you say that?" Hibiki asks slowly. His only response comes in the form of the man reaching into his pocket, unearthing a heavier black and yellow phone that he opens up and thrusts into Hibiki's face. He has the exact same summoning app, but his demons are a lot cooler looking. Of course he has _dragons_. "Oh," he says. "You think there's a cool demon task force here?"  
  
    "That's possible." He takes his phone back, his arctic eyes flickering briefly towards the screen before they lift right back up to Hibiki's face. He's never met someone with such an intense stare. He makes Hibiki feel like a butterfly, and this person is both pins and glass. "So? How about it?"  
  
    Flustered, he blinks and takes a step back. "How about what?"  
  
    "Would you like to investigate with me?" he asks smoothly. "Or would you prefer to keep examining the tiles for clues?"  
  
    Hibiki snorts at him and nods, grinning despite himself. This man might not have a particularly adept command of social graces, but he's funny and smart, and it's nice not to be alone here. "Alright. I'm in!" Hibiki likes the way he smiles at that. It makes his stomach flip dangerously. "I don't suppose you wanna tell me your name either? Should I just call you 'dragon' all night?"  
  
    "Dragon?" His lips pull into a slow frown. As Hibiki had done earlier, he slowly lifts a hand, feeling out the shape of his mask until his gloved fingertips connect to the base of a horn. They emerge from the front of his mask but curve backwards, framing his skull and lifting up into delicate, curled points in the back. They're pretty. Elegant. And not something he would have picked for this man if he had had a choice in the matter.  
  
    Come to think of it, his whole outfit gives Hibiki the same feeling: it strikes him as something he wouldn't have chosen for himself either. This man seems more suited to...blacks. Golds. Not whites and slate greys and almost pearly looking masks.  
  
    The man drops his hands and sniffs irritation. "I see. No. That won't be necessary." Again, Hibiki follows the motion of his hand, but this time he reaches into a back pocket and flips a piece of paper towards Hibiki.  
  
    Mystified, he takes it and opens it up. Then he stiffens in annoyance. This snarky jerk!  
  
    "I know the rules already," he assures the stranger curtly. "I was just-" Oh. No. He isn't being passive-aggressive -- it's his name. The invitation is for Yamato Hotsuin, but it's otherwise identical to Hibiki's in every respect. Fascinating. Hibiki jerks his head up to look back at him. "Aren't you nervous about them? The rules?"  
  
    The self-satisfied smirk on Yamato's face suggests that no, he is not overly concerned about any of the rules he may or may not have just broken. He nods towards the invitation once. "Read them again."  
  
    Hibiki wrinkles his brow, but he follows Yamato's order and re-reads the rules printed at the bottom of the invitation. "Oh!" It says quite clearly that they cannot state their own name. It doesn't say anything about _sharing_ it. "I can't decide if that's really crafty of you, or if it's just kinda pedantic."  
  
    One of Yamato's shoulders lifts in an extremely unambiguous indication that he doesn't care which Hibiki decides he is. "I do like to think my head serves as more than decoration."  
  
    "Ha!" Hibiki covers his mouth in one hand and tries to contain the boisterous laughter that threatens to spill out of it. "Well, it's good for that too." He may not be able to see all of his face, but Hibiki can feel it in his bones like it's an immutable law of the universe that Yamato Hotsuin is extremely attractive. His skin is clear and smooth, and he's got a sharp, upturned nose he finds charming. His mouth is pretty and his eyes are so fascinating, and he looks like he could kill a man if he just thought about it hard enough.  
  
    Hibiki clears his throat and thrusts the invitation back against Yamato's chest. "A- Anyway! It's nice to meet you! Here-" He produces his own invitation and hands it over. As much as he thinks he would enjoy hearing Yamato call him 'rabbit' for the remainder of the evening, it does seem a little inadvisable in a place like this. For all he knows, there are plenty of other lapin fans running around.  
  
    "Yes." Another small smile twitches across Yamato's mouth. "A pleasure." He snaps the invitation shut with two of his fingers, stepping into his personal space and sliding it back into Hibiki's pocket. Holy hell! How familiar of him! Before Hibiki can move, whether to flee or otherwise, Yamato takes another step closer and lowers his head to speak into his ear. "It would seem we've attracted attention."  
  
    His heart slams against his rib cage. Hibiki's eyes rocket upwards. There's no one behind Yamato that merits scrutiny -- which, duh, or he wouldn't have seen them. So Hibiki grasps his bicep and pushes, pivoting them and peeking over the man's shoulder. Right against the wall, Hibiki can see exactly what he'd meant: a trio of men in dark goblin masks, each of them eyeing them with intent. It terrifies him. Though he doesn't quite understand everything going on, he knows with certainty that those men are not fucking around. They have their sights set on he and Yamato. If it was that easy for Yamato to suss out that Hibiki was trying to escape, then it stands to reason that might be the case for any demonic bouncers hanging around as well.  
  
    Hibiki chews at his lip before he presses his other hand to Yamato's shoulder and shoves him into the crowd. "Dance with me!" he blurts.  
  
    "W- What?!"  
  
    Poor Yamato had obviously not been expecting that to be Hibiki's brilliant tactic. But he doesn't argue, no doubt coming to agree that this is their best option. They can stay and pick a fight when they're outnumbered and at a distinct disadvantage, or they can hopefully lose them among the other guests.  
  
    Hibiki tightens his grip on Yamato's shoulder and gropes for his hand, his fingers sliding between Yamato's own. He likes feeling those buttery leather gloves against his bare skin. "Maybe being a wallflower is against the unspoken rules," he notes, rolling both his shoulders up and offering Yamato an impish smile. Yamato responds by wrinkling his nose sharply. "Or they don't appreciate your pedantry."  
  
    "They ought to have put it on the invitation, then," he complains. "I may not have come."  
  
    Aww! His grumpiness is endearing. Hibiki cocks his head at him and guides him into the start of a simple waltz. "Do you not know how to dance?"  
  
    "...No. I never learned. I assume." Yamato is a pretty quick study, though. It takes only a few moments of surveying the other dancing couples around them for him to slide his other hand to the small of Hibiki's back and begin awkwardly copying their movements. It's really cute.  
  
    "You assume? I guess you can't remember anything either. You seemed pretty surprised by your mask."  
  
    "Did I?" Yamato's eyes narrow the slightest bit behind his mask. Then he smiles at Hibiki again and allows himself a low chuckle. "I see your head is also not just a pretty bauble." Pretty? Whoa. Hibiki's cheeks grow so hot that the blush scalds all the way down to his neck. "You'd be correct. I don't seem to remember anything from before I arrived here. Not even my arrival itself."  
  
    He nods slowly and pushes forward, taking the lead for poor Yamato's sake, in spite of their stance indicating the opposite. "Yeah. I woke up with a lady who told me I tripped and fell on my face. But I admit, I'm a little less concerned about potential brain damage if you don't remember anything either."  
  
    Yamato laughs at him again. He's pretty sure he could get used to that. Yamato looks like he'd had his ability to laugh surgically removed when he was a child, but that has proved to be an extremely misleading impression. He seems to think Hibiki is genuinely funny. "Yes," he agrees. "You seem to have your head on straight from where I'm standing. Do you still see them?" he asks, glancing up over the top of Hibiki's head.  
  
    Since Yamato had asked, he makes the effort to look. But by now they're so thoroughly enmeshed in the crowd he can't see anyone hanging around near the walls, especially not any skulking demon creeps. He shakes his head slowly. "Nah. I think we lost them. What should we do? You seem like you're the experienced demon investigator in this scenario."  
  
    "Oh? Trying to flatter me, or do you simply have a more discerning eye than most?" Yamato is smirking at him again. Hibiki steals a short breath and pushes the tiniest bit closer, his hand twitching in Yamato's powerful grip. For someone who doesn't know how to dance, he sure has no compunctions holding onto him with confident authority. Yamato's head cants, and he drops his voice so low Hibiki almost can't hear him over the din of the couples around them. "I can sense magic. I thought I might make use of it to seek out the demon, but I can't seem to find it. I can only feel you."  
  
    His breath stutters inside him, rattling his chest. "Me?" Yamato nods, and Hibiki can feel the faintest brush of his hair against his shoulder.  
  
    He makes no effort to step away from Hibiki, or get out of his space, or even move his head. He keeps speaking into his ear, most likely so that they aren't overheard, but also probably because he's having fun making Hibiki squirm. Yamato strikes him as a sadist like that. "Indeed. I've noticed a magical signature from a few others here, but no one like you. It's overwhelming. It blots out the others around it."  
  
    "O- Oh." On one hand, Hibiki likes that Yamato thinks he's overwhelming. It makes him feel dumb and giddy. But on the other hand, he clearly fucked up all Yamato's plans, and he is sure the man can't be thrilled about that. "...Sorry," he murmurs, his shoulders slumping. But a tremor soon steals through him as Yamato laughs quietly and finally flicks his face away from Hibiki's ear.  
  
    "Do not apologize. We will simply have to get creative to find the creature. It may have had a similar idea as us and hidden itself among the crowd." That would be smart, wouldn't it?  
  
    Hibiki swallows the sudden excess of saliva in his mouth and tightens his nails against the thick material of Yamato's tailcoat. "Then I guess we should stay here, huh?"  
  
    "That's likely for the best."  
  
    That's fine. He can deal with that, he...hopes. Yamato is awfully warm against him, and the other dancers pressing in on them make him feel both safe and claustrophobic. Any bouncers that want to get at them are going to have a hell of a time, but it also means they can't exactly escape anywhere fast in the event that they need to. Hibiki takes a steadying breath and rolls his palm down to grip at Yamato's bicep.  
  
    "Hibiki?"  
  
    He's startled back to awareness, his eyes flickering up to Yamato's face. "Huh?"  
  
    "Is something the matter?"  
  
    Hibiki is almost afraid he's going to jam his other foot in his mouth this time, but to his pleasant surprise, he comes back with a quicker response than he'd hoped for. "Just admiring your cool mask."  
  
    Yamato looks very much as if he doesn't believe him, but he smiles nonetheless. "Are you? I don't know that I share your opinion." By now he seems to have grown comfortable with the repetitive motions. This time, he leads Hibiki, taking control and spreading his fingers along the small of his back.  
  
    "Ahh, I can't say I'm surprised. It doesn't seem like that's something you would pick for yourself."  
  
    Something steals across Yamato's eyes that gives Hibiki the impression that he's amused all over again. "How do you figure?"  
  
    "Just a feeling," Hibiki says lamely, mostly because he can't think of anything else to say, but also because it's honest. "I feel like I know you."  
  
    "Ah." Yamato goes quiet for a moment. In the brief lull, Hibiki can hear the sound of music filtering through the air, soft and as unhurried as their movements. "It's funny that you say so. Your outfit is something I would absolutely choose for you."  
  
    Hibiki pulls a face back at him. "Why's that?"  
  
    "Just a feeling," he parrots. Hibiki would think he was being sarcastic if it weren't for the warm fondness in his voice. "I think that you're right. I wonder if we came here together."  
  
    Together...? Like _that_? His blush goes damn near luminescent. Maybe it's just his voice, or the tone in which he'd said it, but whichever it is, Hibiki's insides feel like they're knotting together.  
  
    In the renewed silence that lapses between them, the music shuts off as well. Yamato jolts to a halt, his hands twitching against Hibiki, and they both look to see everyone else in the crowd doing the same. Slender necks crane, masks swiveling back and forth as if to figure out who the hell is killing the vibe with such mercenary efficiency.  
  
    And then the lights go out.  
  
    Yamato's hold on him goes positively savage. He grips Hibiki against him like he thinks someone will steal him off into the night. He doesn't relax until a series of low lights flicker on, one after the other bursting to life and bathing the dancers in an orange glow. Then the music returns, wholly unlike the soothing classical songs from before.  
  
    This time it's heavy with drums, throbbing like his heartbeat, shaking the floors beneath their feet and making his blood hum. Well. That's different.  
  
    Hibiki remains stiff in his arms. His fingers are a bit numb from Yamato's powerful grip squishing them together. "Do you think it's here?"  
  
    "...I don't know," Yamato admits. "We should...keep looking." He sounds breathless. Like Hibiki feels breathless, his hand still shaking between Yamato's fingers. What was that? Everything had changed on a dime. Even the crowd feels like it's done a one-eighty, shifting seamlessly from ballroom dancing to something straight out of a club. Maybe his rude thoughts about this being a masked sex party were more on-the-nose than he'd actually believed them to be.  
  
    How could they possibly find anyone like this? Everyone is more animated than they had been before, jumping and writhing and twisting together into a tangled mass of bodies. He can even see someone grinding up against a lady's bustle. Good god.  
  
    Yamato's saying something to him, but he can't make out his voice. Not through the heavy blare of music and a hundred other voices and shrieks and giggles and moans. Hibiki wiggles his fingers free of Yamato's bruising grip and clasps at both his shoulders. "What?" he shouts, and his voice is lost in the noise.  
  
    Everything is so loud his head is pounding. He can't even hear the music all that clearly, but he can feel the beat, rattling his bones and shaking him from the inside out. He can't concentrate. He can't think at all, filled as his head is with music and demons and the way Yamato laughs when he thinks Hibiki has said something clever.  
  
    Someone collapses into his back, and Hibiki careens forward, colliding with Yamato's chest as the man's arms wind around him on instinct.  
  
    Hibiki tilts his head back, his blue eyes coming up to rest on Yamato's own. They look darker now, his pupils wide and his mouth slightly open, both his hands burning through the back of Hibiki's jacket. God, his eyes are beautiful.  
  
    "Dance with me," he says again, so low he knows it's impossible for Yamato to have heard him. Even so, Yamato's hands scrape against his back again, tightening and somehow pulling him closer despite Hibiki feeling every inch of him pressed against the man's front.  
  
    He shouldn't do this. There's a fire in his blood, intense, dizzying, robbing him of air and making his skin feel so tight. But he finds he doesn't want it to stop. He wants to stoke it more. He wants to feel it chew through his veins and roar beneath his skin.  
  
    He wants to feel _alive_.  
  
    They're in public. All these people are right there, and they were being chased by someone (right?), and they were here for someone. He thought. They had something to do, someone to pursue, some mission or something, but... No one is looking at them at all. No one is looking at him. Except Yamato.  
  
    He swallows again. He keeps swallowing because if he doesn't, he might choke on the lust flooding his mouth. Yamato is unearthly. He feels like raw power, smells like the ozone of the magic Hibiki can feel popping off his skin when he concentrates. He remembers it now. It's gold, gold like his mask ought to have been.  
  
    His everything feels tight. His lungs, his tie, his pants. He feels like he won't be able to breathe until this yawning pit of want is sated.  
  
    "Yamato," he whispers, and he curls his fingers against the back of his neck, twining through that gorgeous hair. Fuck, it's so soft. Yamato goes still a moment, but then he drops his head, his eyes fluttering shut. Hibiki wants to rip his mask off. Both their masks. He wants to feel his bare skin and stroke his hair back from his face and leave marks up both sides of his neck.  
  
    Instead he thrusts against him, rolling his body to the beat of the music and pushing his face flush against Yamato's. He can't hear it, but he can feel the grind of ceramic between them, can feel the tip of Yamato's nose brush against his and the soft bursts of his breath against his lips.  
  
    He wants to kiss him so god damned bad. His body is screaming for it, his skin itching with sweat and his fingers sinking deeper into Yamato's hair.  
  
    He doesn't kiss him. But Yamato does. He tilts his head further, scraping against his mask and parting his lips. He tugs Hibiki forward and up, into his hungry kiss that burns against his mouth. His lips are so soft they make him want to cry. Hibiki lets go of his shoulder and drags his fingers along the curve of his face, tracing smooth skin.  
  
    And the music stops, the air going cold and dead in a split second. Hibiki feels nothing but warm skin against his forehead.  
  
    He opens his eyes to see his boss staring back at him, Yamato's gloved hands still clutching at the back of his hoodie and his eyes wide open and blank. Hibiki drops back to his feet. Everyone else is collapsed in a heap on the ground.  
  
    They had just passed out. What?!  
  
    He can hear a door open somewhere behind him, but all he can focus on is the look on Chief Hotsuin's face as they stare back at each other. He's still gripping a handful of his hair. And also he has a boner.  
  
    "Hey, b-" The voice halts. Hibiki freezes, and he watches Yamato slowly roll his head to the side. "-oss."  
  
    Yamato finally lets go of him and turns to face the man speaking. He remembers now. Everything. God, does Hibiki wish he didn't.  
  
    The agent lifts a single, sharp eyebrow, his catty brown eyes bouncing from Hibiki's flushed face up to their boss' equally flushed face. Then he reaches up to pluck the cigarette dangling off his lip and flick the ashes into the air. "Found your demon," he says simply, and he slings his other arm around a disoriented blue-haired man's neck. His JP's coat is open and rumpled.  
  
    Oh. God.  
  
    Yamato's shoulders pull into a jagged line. He whips his cell phone out and points it towards them both, but the agent is quick to throw both his hands up and scowl. "Hey, hey! He was possessed. It's fine. I said I took care of it. Asmodeus, right?"  
  
    Hibiki steals a glance over at Yamato and takes a nervous breath. Yamato, thankfully, is busy glaring at the blond. "Are you telling me that you killed Asmodeus?"  
  
    "Uh, yeah? Duh. That's why we were here, right?" The agent - Yvan, he thinks? - rolls his eyes and flicks his long, platinum hair over his shoulder. "I told you, he was possessed! And I fucking hate being interrupted. Some weird, pearly looking snake. Anyway, it's dead now. You're welcome. I'm guessing you'll want a report, right, Chief?"  
  
    Yamato makes a grudging noise and folds his arms, the black material of his coat squeaking faintly. "Obviously."  
  
    "Well, I mean, you like them pretty detailed. You usually ride my ass about not including all those little Type A tidbits like who was positioned where and what time each individual thing went down, so if you want that kind of granular info, it's gonna get pretty...long," he assures him, his tone utterly lascivious.  
  
    "Agent-"  
  
    "I'm just saying. I can do it if you want, but-"  
  
    "Agent Yv-"  
  
    "Okay, fine," he huffs, throwing his hand to his hip and exhaling a thick plume of smoke. "You want me to cut it off when I killed the demon, or when I...encountered you and Agent Kuze over there?"  
  
    Yamato looks ready to collapse in on himself. "...Just have it on my desk by Monday," he mutters, and he whirls away from him with a snap of his long jacket.

    "Yes, sir. Looking forward to my raise," Yvan calls to his retreating back.  
  
    Hibiki's knees damn near give out. He stands there with monstrous hesitation gnawing at him before he finally summons the courage to follow him, pulling his arms around his middle.  
  
    "Uhm. Sir?"  
  
    He doesn't expect Yamato to even turn and look at him when he's striding out of the empty building like a man on a mission. He looks like he wants to put as much distance between himself and Yvan as humanly possible. Or maybe Hibiki.  
  
    But he does, stopping short and swinging around to face him so abruptly that Hibiki flinches. Then he softens and sighs at him. "What is it, Hibiki?"  
  
    He can't do it. Hibiki quails beneath that sharp gaze. He can still remember how they looked through that fake mask. Everything makes so much sense now. Awkwardly, he looks away from him and rubs at his arm. "What should I put in mine, sir? Er. My report."  
  
    Yamato falls so silent that Hibiki isn't completely convinced the man actually heard him. The look on his face suggests otherwise, however, his brow furrowed hard. Then he frowns gently. "I will take care of it."  
  
    "Sir?"  
  
    A hand falls to Hibiki's shoulder and squeezes. "I said I will take care of it," he repeats, his tone firm but not unkind. Then he breaks away from him, striding away.  
  
    Chief Hotsuin was blushing.


End file.
